


Gearhead

by Space_Conspiracy



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, liberal liberties taken with canon, ridiculous spellings of accents, two gear heads bond over a love of mechanical torture devices, unbeta’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Conspiracy/pseuds/Space_Conspiracy
Summary: Amanda explores Glenvale and meets the Entity’s newest addition
Relationships: Caleb Quinn | The Deathslinger & Amanda Young
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Gearhead

It would have been like any other day for Amanda. A trial for the Entity, some tinkering with her bear traps. A visit from Ghost Face if she was unlucky, then a quick nap. The meat packing plant had taken some time to get used to, it’s layout was close enough to its real world counterpart that she’d take a wrong turn and end up in a completely different place than intended, but she’d carved out an area for herself that didn’t smell too badly of rotting flesh and made it her workshop and home. Stalking through the halls to her space, she removed the mask and tossed it aside, checking cameras as she went. They seemed clear as far she could tell, no visual indicators and none of the motion sensors were going off, so for now she could allow herself some peace and quiet. Today’s trial had been good, two kills on hooks and one by bear trap, the last survivor barely making it through the open hatch. They’d made her work for it though, sending her scrambling across the map as fast as she could with each generator they lit. 

Settling herself at her workbench, she examined her prototype bear trap, the one the Entity used as basis in the trials. It would be worth attempting to reduce the timer on the mechanism. She gazed about her desk, finding her boxes of supplies woefully diminished. 

“Great,” she muttered. 

The meat packing plant had some of the supplies she needed, generally copies of “nostalgic” items during her time as Jigsaw’s apprentice. They seemed to reappear fairly regularly, but most of her mechanical supplies for trap modification had to be found elsewhere. The MacMillan estate was the best place for everything she needed, the ironworks held far more than she could carry with her at any given time, but Evan MacMillan was unfriendly at best. He’d given her a warning the last time Amanda had been caught on his property and even though she’d been back once since then, it was becoming more and more risky to do so. 

Autohaven was her next best bet, gutting cars for scrap metal was easy enough and Philip generally left her be. After there, it was a mixed bag as far as every other place went. The Clown was usually willing to barter supplies for some of his own chemicals, but the man was disgusting to be around, and stealing from the Doctor was likely to get her strapped to a table and experimented on herself. She’d been over to the strange laboratory once and found some very good supplies while she was there, but the moment she’d seen the strange dog-like creature with a head that split open like a flower she’d booked it as fast as she could. No sense getting involved with eldritch abominations any more than she already was. Any other place after that generally wasn’t worth her time. 

There was one place she hadn’t been outside of the trials, a strange Midwestern town that had appeared recently with a bloated red sun hanging in the sky. She didn’t have a lot of time to wander around during trials but from what she had seen, the little town had plenty of gears and scrap metal she might be able to “borrow” for her own use. Grabbing a bag and donning her mask, she slunk through the halls of the warehouse and into the fog. 

Glenvale was a stark contrast to many of the other realms constructed by the Entity. While most place were cool and dark, lit by an ever present moon, the ghost town was dry and dusty, lit by a dying sun. Amanda could already feel sweat beginning to gather under her heavy coat and rubber mask. She walked cautiously, not at a full crouch, but sticking close to shadows and the thick bushes. There were a few buildings that Amanda wanted to investigate, a number of sheds and similar outbuildings that couldn’t be opened during trials would most likely be accessible now so they seemed like a good place to begin poking around. The dirt road scuffed and crunch beneath her boots, in the distance a vulture made a gross shrieking noise. It was quiet, calm. Amanda lowered her stance and darted towards the closest building. 

The door opened easily when she tried the handle, hinges well oiled despite their apparent age. She paused, took stock of surroundings. Everything seemed clear, no trip wires or hidden mechanisms to kill, maim or alert the owner. Creeping slowly regardless, Amanda entered the little building and shut the door behind her. It was much cooler inside, lit with the only light coming through gaps in the woodwork. A quick inspection revealed the building to be a small storehouse, packed with barrels filled with long decayed foodstuffs. Nothing of interest. Amanda moved quickly from building to building, rummaging through drawers, cupboards and crates for anything she deemed useful. She wasn’t coming up with a lot, mostly a few scraps and screws here and there, a few strips of leather that might be useful. Things were turning out to be a bit of a bust in the long run. 

Eyeing the saloon carefully, Amanda crept across the main drag to one of the few buildings she hadn’t checked. If Glenvale’s killer wasn’t in a trial, she didn’t doubt they’d be spending most of their time at the saloon considering the state of everything else. It was the only place that had bedding and furniture, not to mention the many bottles of alcohol lining the bar. She’d be spending her downtime drinking if she had any booze on hand. 

Amanda tried the handle. _L_ _ocked_. Oh. _Fascinating._ People don’t lock doors unless they have something to protect. Shifting her woefully light bag, Amanda pulled out her lock picks and inserted them into the lock. You don’t kidnap and torture people as your day job without picking up a few tricks. The tumblers were old and relatively simple, if a bit stiff. With a click, the door unlocked and Amanda jiggled the handle, finding it opened with ease. She moved to step inside when-

“Ay don’t take too kindly to thieves breakin’ into ma stuff.”

Amanda froze instantly. A man, taller than her, with an accent that seemed a strange of mix of Southerised Irish. There was a click, the cocking of a gun and Amanda went very quickly from an incredulous _“that man has a gun”_ to a terrified _“oh my god the Entity gave that man a gun”._ She shifted slightly to turn, but the back of her mask was roughly jabbed, keeping her facing firmly away. 

“You ain’t like the others little piggy,” he mused. “If you ain’t like that, then why are you here?”

Amanda shifted once again to turn, just enough that her voice could be heard somewhat clearer. She still couldn’t see the man properly, only just making out faded, filthy jeans and well worn leather boots. 

“Scavenging,” she said shortly. She had a pretty fast sprint if she had too, but the building was a dead end. She needed to turn around and face the man, maybe then have a chance of ducking between his legs. 

“Looks like stealin’ to me.” She heard him spit to the side and turned slightly again. Long coat, broad brimmed hat, greying hair and strange glowing eyes, much like Philip’s. And the gun, pointed at her but held casually as he turned away for a moment. It looked a cross between a bayonet and harpoon gun, with an ugly blade attached to the tip. 

“You weren’t going to use them anyway,” she said, removing her bag from her shoulder and dropping it to the ground in the space between them. She was more of less standing in profile to the man now and he scrutinised her carefully, like he was trying to decide something. 

“That thang that brought me here did mention there’d be others,” he muttered quietly. “That don’t mean you can go around stealin’ from me. Just because I ain’t usin’ it now don’t mean I won’t later.” Eyes still trained on Amanda, he stepped forward and opened the bag with his free hand, sifting through the meagre amount of things she’d collected. Was he... limping?

He suddenly chuckled. 

“Well you ain’t wrong that I ain’t using ‘em. Look at this garbage!” He pulled out a rusty, brittle gear and waved it at her. “What’s a little piggy like you need this stuff fer anyway?”

Amanda shrugged and completed her slow turn to face the man. He looked like a cowboy, spoke like one too. She knew the priestess woman came from an ancient time but... when was this guy from?

“I make things.”

“Make thangs? Don’t seem like a very ladylike thang to do,” he replied as he continue to scoff at some of the things she’d picked up. 

Amanda bristled. Sure, she wasn’t as strong or fast as her male colleagues, but she knew how to make traps, and she was damn smart to boot. She reached into the extra dimensional pocket that only she could touch, provided so kindly by the Entity, and pulled out one of her reverse beartraps, a wicked cruel contraption with spikes of rusted metal attached to the mouthpiece. Sure it was designed by John in the first place, but the additions were hers. 

The man considered the trap in her hand, using his free hand to turn and inspect it without taking it from her. 

“Rips the jaws open right?” He asked, pointing to the mouthpiece. Amanda nodded. “Huh.” 

His hostility from earlier seemed to have been forgotten, much more interested in the ugly lump of metal and gears. 

“Ay made somethin’ like this when Ay was a boy, never showed it to no one or nothin’ though.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking between the bag, the trap and Amanda. 

“You use these when you hunt then?” He finally asked. “Ain’t that thang givin’ you the supplies to keep makin’ ‘em?”

“Sometimes, not enough,” Amanda replied, thinking back to the contents of her workshop. A bunch of crappy stuff that reminded her of John and not nearly enough chemicals and materials for the things she really wanted to use. 

The cowboy considered this, tilted his head to one side. 

“Come with me lil’ miss, maybe we can help each other.”

He turned on his heel and gestured with his gun for her to follow. Amanda followed cautiously behind, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of violence, as the man led her to the saloon. Trailing behind him now, she could see the pronounced limp in his left leg, the slightly bulkier fabric around the knee. He’d injured it somehow, and not during a trial. 

The saloon was more or less the same as it was in the trials, except he’d appeared to have cleaned up a little. No corpses and slightly less blood. One of the tables was strewn with bits of metal and gears, and what appeared to be the remnants of a meal. It was dominated by a heavy looking metal mask he set to the side, gesturing for her sit down as he did. 

“Can ay get you a drink?” He asked, moving to the bar and rifling through the available bottles. “Ay may be one thang but my mamma raised a good host.”

It was a little surreal watching the man. Amanda was cordial, even friendly, with some of the other killers, but most of the conversations she’d had with them had felt like she’d been walking on thin ice with them. This strange cowboy, who’d called her a thief and pointed a gun at her head, was now offering her a _drink_.

The man poured two glasses and brought them over to the table, seating himself with a sigh of relief. Amanda sat too, removing her mask for the sake of politeness. He seemed a little shocked as she did, but took a quick drink to hide his expression. 

“You ain’t a pig.”

“Just a mask,” she replied, running her fingers along the rubbery edge. 

“Ay’ve seen some of the others, guess ay shoulda expected that.” He lowered his glass with a clack and spread a palm across the table. “So your lil’ contraption had me thinkin’, ay’ve got some thangs ay want t’build but ay ain’t got the parts or equipment to do that. Like you said, that thang doesn’t give us enough.” Amanda nodded and reached for her glass, sniffing the liquid. Some kind of whisky maybe? She took a tentative sip as the man continued. 

“So ay was thinkin’ that we could trade. I reckon you’ve got the tools ay need fer some of my projects, ay’ve for the materials you need fer yours.” 

“I need the tools for my stuff,” Amanda said, tapping her finger on the table. 

“That’s ma offer, take it or leave it.”

There was a big risk that giving the man her tools would put her out for good, there was no guarantee the Entity would provide her with another set, putting her back at square one. 

“Is there anything else I can give you? I have...” she trailed off, thinking. Lots of her stuff was so specific to her. “Is there anything I can get for you? I need to talk to Max about machine parts, I can get you some things from him. Or...” Amanda eyed his leg which he noticed, shifted the limb out of sight. 

“Ay suppose some extra supplies of ma own won’t hurt. If you’d let me borrow yer tools then, and bring me some parts and supplies, I think I could let you take some of ma scrap.”

“I’m going to need more than just scrap. I’m need some gears too, decent ones.”

His face twisted slightly as he considered her statement. 

“Fine, ay can give you some gears,” he sighed finally. “But ay want to borrow yer tools first.”

Seemed reasonable, even though it meant she had to backtrack. Amanda nodded. The man’s face split into a crooked grin revealing yellowing tombstone teeth. He poured more alcohol into his glass and took a big swig. 

“Ay’m Caleb Quinn, leader of the Hellshire Gang. Ma boys ain’t here but while ay’m around and you uphold yer end of our deal, ay’m more’n happy t’provide you with anythin’ you need.” He grabbed her hand and shook it, his grip firm, his hands dry and calloused. 

“Amanda,” she replied, a little overwhelmed. 

“Amanda,” he repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. “That’s a pretty name.”

She shrugged. 

“I can probably bring some stuff over...” she did a quick mental calculation. She’d have to speak with Max, which meant bringing him some things from Autohaven, which probably meant a conversation with Philip. “Maybe tomorrow? I have to pick some things up.”

“Ay appreciate that Miss Amanda. I ain’t really spoken to anyone else so havin’ someone to sort it out for me is a real load off my back.”

Standing, Amanda place her mask back on and walked for the door. Quinn followed, leaning against the doorframe as she exited. 

“Give a shout when yer back, ay’m usually around the saloon.”

Amanda raised a hand in farewell, walking leisurely down the main drag before swiftly crouching and darting behind a building, making a beeline for the realm’s exit. 

Caleb Quinn, she decided, was alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back on my bullshit with such a /good/ friendship. These two are basically made to sit and talk about their torture devices together
> 
> So many of Amanda’s add ons are nostalgic pieces from when she was Jigsaw’s apprentice, considering I’ve chosen to interpret her as “fuck John” she probably doesn’t quite get the intended use out of them. Many of them “fill her with calm/determination/etc” due to John’s teachings but I can imagine her using these items and utilising her rage instead. One particularly interesting add-on is “Amanda’s Secret”: “ A black metal box containing a knife and various medical supplies, such as bandages and compresses. Deep cuts reduce stress and awaken the senses “ which implies that Amanda is still self-harming in the Realm, which I think is such a sad fact about her. My take on Amanda wants to distance herself from a lot of this and I think that while the Entity will provide some things, it takes time for stuff to “respawn”, so she’ll have to go get things from elsewhere if she wants to use more than she has. I’ve headcanoned a web of people she’s running supplies for in exchange for her own stuff. The Entity naturally gives some killers more of some stuff than others due to their powers, Bubba and Max for example will naturally receives more tools and machine parts for repairs compared to Amanda due to the high stress machinery they use, while the Clown will always receive more chemicals for his own concoctions. Some killers are just too dangerous to approach despite good the items they have might be, Amanda doesn’t trust Herman as far as she can throw him despite the fact that the hospital probably has much better stuff, and while she could probably get supplies from the Hawkins Lab for the Clown in exchange for chloroform, running into the Demogorgon is too big of a risk for her. She doesn’t exactly like the Clown but he gives her /big/ jugs of the good good stuff so she doesn’t have to go by very often.   
> (if you’re wondering about my Goro Akechi goes to hell fic then I can promise you that the next chapter is done, I just gotta get to my computer to post it)


End file.
